


Let it Snow

by SpicyCheese



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Cozy fluff, F/F, shootsecretsanta18, spreading holiday cheer their own way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 07:10:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17178254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyCheese/pseuds/SpicyCheese
Summary: Shoot Secret Santa 2018 gift for axl99 who prompted: “What even does a vacation/staycation look like for a couple of workaholics?”





	Let it Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! This is my best attempt at cozy fluff! set during nebulous time where both our ladies are just beginning to get together, and figuring out what that means exactly. Hope you like it!

*_*_*_*_*

  
  
  


The whole situation feels really weird and the fact that she agreed to it means… well it doesn’t matter now, because they’re already here. 

She pushes open the door to the cabin, knocking the excess snow off her boots before heading inside. 

“She says a light switch  on the right,” Root says, entering just behind her and dusting the snow off the shoulders of her coat. 

Shaw slides a hand along the wall until she finds the switch. The lights flicker on and they get their first look at the place they’ll be spending the next four days. 

The living room is open, all high ceilings and exposed wooden beams, everything you’d expect from a “luxury ski lodge”.  To their left is a fireplace. A couch and armchair sit around it, with a soft looking rug and coffee table between. Bookcases and a few paintings line the walls. The kitchen is open to the living room, only separated by a breakfast bar, and there’s a staircase to the second floor loft that winds up and around ( _ to the bedroom _ , Shaw assumes). 

Slipping off her boots, Shaw leaves her duffle bag by the door. Padding to the kitchen, she begins rummaging and finds both fridge and cupboards to be fully stocked. Recently too, if the expiration dates are accurate.

“She says there’s a freezer in the basement with extra food as well,” Root says, leaning over the breakfast bar. “There’s sports equipment down there. Skis, snowshoes, that sort of thing.”

Shaw grabs a banana from the bowl of fruit, peeling it down. “Looks like Robot Overlord thought of everything.” She takes a bite, enjoying the minut flinch of annoyance Root makes at the nickname.

“Even if this wasn’t her idea, She likes to make sure we’re taken care of.” 

Shaw rolls her eyes, takes another big bite of fruit so she doesn’t have to respond to that. It’s true though. However serious or not Shaw’s comment about going on vacation together was, it _was_ Shaw’s idea. And now here they are, fully stocked cabin in the middle of nowhere siberia, four days to kill until their job in Moscow comes up. 

“I’m going to take my bag upstairs and unpack,” Root clicks the ‘k’ at extra hard and attempts a wink before sliding away. 

With reluctant sigh Shaw finishes her banana, tossing it before heading back to grab her bag as well. Ascending the staircase she follows the thin banister around to the one and only door and heads inside. 

The loft bedroom is... fair-sized. She might be ill or something because “cozy” was honestly the first adjective that came to mind. There’s a dresser on each side of the room, a small bookcase, and a door that probably leads to a bathroom. Most of the room however is taken up by the enormous bed and now, as Shaw stands at the foot of it, she’s struck by just how little thinking she did about this whole vacation thing. What it might entail, for example. Not a vacation in general but a vacation  _ with  _ someone. With Root. It’s a thought exercise made infinitely harder to since she’s not exactly sure how to define what being “with Root” means either. 

They’ve fucked (once) and kissed (twice) and spent plenty of time together flirting and shooting at people. All of that happened on the job though so downtime like this is completely undefined. Shaw’’s not sure what Root expects and not what sure what she wants from Root either.

Tossing her duffle in the corner, Shaw flops back onto the bed. There’s a skylight above, currently featuring a perfect square of grey-blue winter sky. She feels the bed dip beside her and hears Root release and over exaggerated sigh.

“What are we supposed to do now?” Shaw wonders outloud.

“I can think of several things,” Root hums, teasing tone not o be misinterpreted. “But vacation is about doing what  _ you  _ want to do.”

Shaw sits with that for a fw long minutes. She’s still not sure what to make of it, even when she feels Root roll off the bed and head towards the door. 

“I have a project I want to work on,” she says by way of exiting, and Shaw is alone once more. 

Propping herself up on her elbows, Shaw looks out the small window. There’s a fresh layer of snow out there and more forecasted for the evening as well. 

_ Four days of this,  _ Shaw thinks, wondering what on earth possessed her to even entertain the idea, much less suggest it. She conjures up ideas of what ‘normal’ people do on a snowy vacation and finds herself with a barrage of media stock images that involve people snuggling together for various activities. 

Suddenly the idea of staying inside makes her itch. 

Shaw heads downstairs. Root is on the couch, curled up under a blanket, laptop in lap. “Leave it to you to manage to find a WiFi signal in the middle of the woods.”

“She and I are well practiced at creating our own hotspot,” Root hums. 

“Ew, okay, I don’t wanna know,” Shaw says, waving hand and making her way towards the basement. 

Descending the stairs, she’s actually surprised by what she finds. The basement is tidy, well organized, and labled. It reminding Shaw of something she’d expect to find in White Suburbia rather than the frozen tundra. She heads for the sports equipment mounted and displayed towards the back and shuffs on a pair of snow pants (surprisingly just her size). She grabs the cross country skis, having watched enough Winter Olympics to know that if she wants a good burn that’s a good bet, and heads back upstairs. 

Root’s still staring at the computer and Shaw can tell from the faraway look that the Machine must be talking to her. Fingers flying across the keys and Shaw wonders who is dictating to whom. Though, remembering Root’s prior innuendo ,maybe she’d rather not know. 

Shaw walks behind the couch and pulls on her jacket. Peeking over Root’s shoulder she sees lines of code growing of across the screen. It’s a language Shaw has no desire to learn, and a lifestyle she has no interest in adopting. The contrast between her and Root sits odd in her stomach and propels her out the door even quicker. 

Outside, the sky is still bright grey and she’s thankful she remembered to bring sunglasses for  the glare off the snow. Strapping into the skis it takes a few minutes to figure out how to get moving, but it’s not long before she’s gliding along at a good clip.

The trail near the cabin excellent, challenging. A good rhythm going now, she feels confident enough to push a little harder. She loses herself in it, letting concerns and thoughts from before fall away and shifting attention inward to the way her quads burn or the bite of the cold air at her lungs. The world around her is crisp and quiet, the only sounds are the swishing of her skis and the hiss of her breath. Every once in awhile she’ll stop and take in the serene woods. Watch the way the light glints off iced branches, or examine some animal tracks she crosses. She spends a few hours like that and by the time she gets back, the waning light has taken on a golden hue.

Back inside, Shaw is almost thankful not to find Root where she left her. Instead, she’s in the kitchen, starting at the open cupboards in thought.

“Problem?” Shaw asks, grabbing a beer from the fridge.

“Just reviewing dinner options. Decisions, decisions.”

Shaw pops the top off the beer with her belt buckle, taking a long swig. “Kinda assumed I’d be doing the cooking, you know, considering.”

“Considering?”

“Considering half the time I have to remind you to eat,” Shaw huffs, taking another sip. “Food’s not really your thing.”

Root looks at her and it feels heavy somehow. She tries not to squirm under it, changes the subject. “Look, don’t blow a microchip- let me shower and I’ll make something,” she shrugs like it’s nothing, even though Root is still looking like it's anything but.

Shaw moves towards the door, before Root’s voice catches up with her, “Need any company?”

The tone is light, the weigh from before evaporated. “I think I can handle it,” Shaw deadpans back.

Back upstairs, she takes a few extra minutes in the shower, letting the hot water defrost the cold ache from her bones. After, she finds that Root seems to have taken it upon herself to unpack their bags. All their clothes are neatly folded in the dresser to the left of the bed. Shaw’s extra ammo clips, gas mask, and other gear is organized in her duffle bag, tucked under the bed. 

It’s annoying in its efficiency, annoying because it’s exactly how Shaw would have done it.  _ Totally unnecessary. Could have done this myself _ , Shaw thinks. Helping herself to her favorite pair of worn USMC sweats and a hoodie, she pads back downstairs.

“You look cozy,” Root says. She’s kneeling near the fireplace depositing another log on an already roaring fire. 

“She help you with that too?” Shaw asks.

“Fire setting happens to be one of my skills actually.”

“Somehow not surprised,” Shaw states and heads to the kitchen. 

Cooking has always been luxury when she had the time to indulge, so she’s happy to seize the opportunity. The cabinets are still open from Root’s rummaging and Shaw browses those and the fridge before settling on a meal. There’s a whole raw chicken which she helps herself to, spending a few minutes of collecting seasonings and other essentials before setting to work. She dresses it the way she remembers her mother doing years ago and makes sure to grab and chop an assortment of veggies to lay underneath the roasting bird too. 

_ Root could use the friggin’ nutrients _ , she thinks idly.

Shoving the whole thing in the oven, she sets a timer before heading back to the living room. Root is back on the couch, feet on the coffee table and afghan blanket wrapped around her legs like a mermaid tail. They have about an hour before dinner so Shaw makes her way to the bookshelves. Perusing the titles, she can’t help sneaking quick glances back at Root. The woman is typing away oblivious, brow furrowed in concentration. It’s a sight Shaw finds to be a weird comfort normally, but here it makes her slightly unnerved. Not because of the action, but because it leaves Shaw to her own devices. It’s the  _ ‘what’s next’ _ anticipation that’s bothered Shaw since they got here, and it seems like she’s the only one.

Eventually she selects a book, a popular title she recognizes from a few years ago, and is then faced another choice: Where to sit. The armchair, the other end of the couch? Root’s words about Shaw doing whatever she wants on vacation mock her and it pisses her off enough she bypasses the couch and chair, opting to flop down on the rug in front of the fireplace. 

Root doesn’t look up from her typing but states, “The bear skin rug was the owner’s Great-Great Grandfather’s. He killed the bear himself and fed his family for 6 months off the meat. It’s a family heirloom and the owner apparently takes a eat deal of pride in it.” 

“So sex on the rug is out?” she jokes, enjoying the way Root’s glitches excitedly. Shaw doesn’t bother waiting for a verbal response, simply rolls over, faces the fire, and cracks open the book.

Time flies after that. The book is good, but the wafting smell of roasting chicken and subsequent stomach grumbling buoys her to the present. Shaw portions dinner for them, Root watching ruefully as she very purposefully places roasted vegetables both plates. They eat at the small wooden table in the breakfast nook. Root takes her time, cutting her entire meal into tiny pieces before even taking a bite. Shaw has more of an eat-as-you-go style, which is why she's half done by the time Root finishes cutting. Shaw tries to slow her pace.

Companionable silence is one of her favorite things about Root. The quiet never feels pressured or uncomfortable. Even in the midst of this odd situation, it still feels right. They finish up and before Shaw can say anything, Root clears dishes. She returns to the table with a tumbler of whisky for Shaw glass of water for herself.

“She says I need to drink more water” Root says. 

“She’s not wrong ,” Shaw chuckles, taking a sip of her own drink. “But She doesn’t mind if I’m dehydrated?”

Root smiles over the lip of her glass. “She thought you might appreciate a good buzz at the moment.” 

They sip quietly, watching the snow starts to fall through the window.

“The owner’s hunting gear is in the basement as well. If you're wondering what you can do for tomorrow.”

Shaw was, in fact, wondering that. “What kind of gun?”

“Compound bow, actually.” Root says. “Game fowl season is in full swing right now.”

“Sounds fun.” 

_ What about tonight? _ lingers heavily after but Root smiles lightly ,diffusing it. “I have a few more things I’d like to work on. Unless you have something in mind for us for dessert?”

Shaw makes a ‘after you/don’t let me stop you’ motion with her arm towards the couch like and Root heads back to her spot from before. Shaw stays, finishes her drink in her own time, but eventually returns to her spot on the rug as well.

It’s late when she finally lays the book down, the fire fizzled out to its final embers. Now the blue light of the computer screen is the only illumination and the creepy way it lights Root’s face, the strung out tiredness there, brings to mind an entirely different type of snowed-in scenario. The Stephen King kind. 

_ All work and no play _ , Shaw thinks. Standing, she moving behind the couch and touches Root’s shoulder. “She going to remind you to take a break any time soon?” 

“She avoids redirecting me when unnecessary. Doing so when you’re around seems redundant.” 

“Fine. Then this is  _ me _ telling me you look like shit. Be done for the night.”

Root smiles sleepily, closing the laptop and placing it beside her. “As you wish.”

Shaw ignores the reference and heads for the bedroom. She changes, brushes her teeth, and passes Root on the stairs coming up as she heads down to find a glass of water. By the time she returns to the bedroom, Root has changed into her monogrammed PJ’s and bunny slippers and is sitting on edge of the bed, odd expression on her face as she stares at her phone. 

Shaw pauses in the doorway, not sure what she wants to do or what she’s going to do (two different things). 

They've always slept separately in the past. She could still sleep downstairs but that’d be stupid when the bed up here is big enfor three or four people. She watches Root discard her phone, giving Shaw a open, content look before shutting off her bedside light.

It was neither invitation nor declaration. Another thing Shaw likes about Root- there’s never any pressure _. _  Doesn’t make this any less confusing.

Shaw makes her way over to the bed despite the continued indecision, and slides under the covers. When she rolls over, she’s facing Root who blinks back at her in the dark.

_ Fuck it, _ Shaw thinks. “What is this?” 

“It’s call ‘rest’, I think.”

“You know what I mean. This. You. Me. “ Shaw pauses “Her too I suppose- it’s a package deal right?” 

Root beams at that, “Very much so.” 

“So yeah, what is this?”

“What do you want it to be?”

“Can you just answer my question. I asked you first.” 

Root shrugs, nuzzling her head further into her pillow. “I haven’t thought much about it.” 

“Bullshit,” Shaw bites. “You always have a plan.” 

“ _ She _ always has a plan. I…” Root trails off. Shaw can tell it’s Root thinking rather than listening, so she waits. 

“I enjoy you Sameen,” she says, quietly. “Whatever that is, day to day.” 

“And Her?” Shaw asks, referring to the Machine. “She just along for the ride?”

“Mmm, on the contrary, she has always been quite invested in us as a pair.” Root smiles small, like it’s an inside joke. “She likes you too.” 

“That is…” Shaw searches, but comes up with nothing. “Whatever. It’s fine, I guess.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Shaw rolls onto her back looks up at the skylight. Stars wink above, dots of bright in crisp, dark blue.

“I’m not good at this,” Shaw starts. Root doesn’t reply but Shaw doesn’t have to turn to know the woman’s attention is tuned in. “Not sure how it’s supposed to go.”

“On the contrary, you’re quite good at it. You make sure I eat, sleep-“

“So does the omnipotent FitBit in your ear,” Shaw grumbles.

“You talk to me, and listen,” Root continues. “And if I'm totally honest you're the first person, maybe in my whole life, who has thought about me. About my safety. About my health.” Root says it plainly, as though they’re discussing the weather. 

There’s a pressure in Shaw’s chest at the words, like the air is compressing around her slowly, the weight of it clenching under her ribs. Something demanding attention, something stirring.

“It doesn’t have to be like on TV,” Root offers. “Or like what the rest of them, any of them have. Because we're not like the rest of them, are we?”

Shaw snorts, “Fuck no.” 

“So forget them. Forget ‘should’ and ‘supposed to’.” Root adds, propping herself up on an elbow. “What you're not good at isn’t applicable. It’s a language you don't ever have to learn. Not with me.”

The pressure reaches combustion and that something that’s been building, building all day and even before, finally explodes. Without thought, Shaw pounces on top of Root, pinning her to the mattress.

Only anger usually moves her like this, but the sharp and familiar satisfaction that usually follow a snap is missing. There is relief, as she looks down at the other woman whose hips she was straddling, but she’s not sure where to go from here. 

Root, by contrast, doesn’t seem unsure. Doesn’t seem surprised either. She simply looks back up at Shaw, and smiles knowingly. “Ditto.” 

Shaw rolls her eyes, and dismounts, shuffling to her side of the bed once more, and letting the warm afterbuzz of that stirring thing, settle in her gut. 

“Keep your freezing feet to yourself” Shaw says without malice, as she snuffles down further into the covers. “And tell Rosie the Robot to wake us up for 5am. I wanna shoot some stuff, bright and early.”

“Mmm, goodnight Sameen,” Root contently from the dark.

It’s odd, to have someone know her better than she know herself sometimes. To have someone who understands, who seems to hear the whispers within her like they were as clear as day. Maybe Root can help her hear them a little better too. Maybe together they can have their own language. 

Shaw chuckles, into her pillow despite herself. The whole thing is so weird. So unexpected. 

_ Inconceivable _ , she thinks as she drifts off. She falls asleep smirking at the reference and how ridiculous and maybe cool being ‘with’ some can actually turn out to be.

  
  


*-*-*-*-*


End file.
